


Gay People Exist, Ed!

by Roehrborn



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Crack, Ed's oblivious, Everyone's gay, Fix-It, Humor, I'm just here to have a good time, Internalized Homophobia, Love, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-02-18 10:20:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13098045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roehrborn/pseuds/Roehrborn
Summary: “...and I never meant to hurt you. I’m so sorry, Edward. It’s not because of you, it’s me.”“Isabella, I...I don’t understand.”“I’mlesbian, Edward.”





	Gay People Exist, Ed!

**Author's Note:**

> Huuuuuuge thank you to Flux because this fic exists entirely because of our conversation. (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ<3  
> ~R

“...and I never meant to hurt you. I’m so sorry, Edward. It’s not because of you, it’s me.”

“Isabella, I...I don’t understand.”

“I’m _lesbian_ , Edward.”

“That’s--that’s--” he stutters, uncertain, but she continues to stare at him mercilessly with wide, pitying eyes.

“You’re a wonderful man,” she continues, and lifts her hands out as if to hold his; but he flinches away, confused, and she allows them to fall. “You’ll make someone very happy someday. But that person isn’t _me_.”

“I don’t understand,” Edward says numbly. It seems to be the only thing that will come out of his mouth.

“I hope there are no hard feelings, but Ed you’d--you’d probably better call one of the mayor’s men to pick you up. I don’t think you should be driving like this.”

“Isabella?”

“Yes?”

“ _Why_...are you gay?”

Her lips twitch; she looks like she’s suppressing a smile. “I’ll call you a cab, Ed, how’s that?”

“Okay,” he acquiesces. He sinks down onto her loveseat and stares at the coffee table, her words echoing through his mind as he struggles to assimilate the data.

~

“I don’t understand,” Edward says again.

Oswald still hasn’t said anything after his initial pleased response. Edward supposes Oswald is glad that Edward will never kill Isabella, since she has now decided they can only be friends. He stayed silent all throughout Edward’s explanation, expression falling into a neutral but not condemning look. But then he _remained_ silent, long after Edward finished, and Edward isn’t sure what to _do_ , or even how Oswald can help him.

“I don’t underst--”

“Gay people exist, Ed!” Oswald says sharply, the sudden grin on his face less-than-genuine. Edward blinks, trying to process Oswald’s bizarre reaction. Oswald’s hands flutter and then wave a little more frantically, gesturing the dining room around them. “They’re everywhere!”

“But she _kissed_ me?” Edward asks.

A black look crosses Oswald’s face: his eyes widen and his mouth flattens out into a barely-suppressed murderous line. “ _Yes_?” Oswald demands.

“But how is she _gay_ ,” Edward asks, slowly, “if she _kissed_ me?”

“Sexual orientation is not dependent on past experience,” Oswald says rapidly, and then lifts a hand to cover his mouth briefly. “Ed--”

“But then _why_ did she kiss me if she was gay?”

Oswald throws both his hands into the air. “Maybe she thought she would enjoy it. Maybe she wanted to make you happy. Maybe she wanted to ensnare you in unholy matrimony as you are a high-ranking official in city government. How would _I_ know?”

Edward shifts on his feet and considers. Oswald lets out a gust of air and slowly lowers his arms. “Gay,” Edward says thoughtfully, and Oswald’s shoulders rise again, his expression flickering through several undefinable emotions at once. Edward chews his lower lip, briefly, turning to gaze pensively out the entryway to the dining room. “I don’t even _know_ anyone gay.”

There’s a loud _slam_ and the clatter of broken glass and when Edward turns back to look, Oswald is resting with both palms flat against the surface of the dining table. An empty wineglass (probably from his dinner) has shattered onto the wood beside his hands.

Without thinking Edward darts forward and wraps his hands around Oswald’s forearms, tugging his hands up and his arms out of the range of the broken shards. Oswald jerks his arms out of Edward’s grasp as if burned, and Edward lets him go, too preoccupied by the dangerous glass shards and the persistent thought that Oswald might accidentally cut himself on them. Edward grabs a napkin and begins to sweep them into an orderly pile.

There’s a rustle of fabric and the muted sound of a disgruntled foreign language: Olga steps into the room and, staring at something beside Edward, raises an eyebrow and makes an immediate exit.

“Ed,” Oswald says from beside him. His voice is quiet and it sounds _wrong_ ; Edward apprehensively continues to tidy the glass.

“I mean--I suppose--” Edward says, “the statistical likelihood of knowing _one_ gay person isn’t astronomical, and certainly in a city the size of Gotham--”

“--Ed--”

“--but I have to admit, the likelihood of _one_ of the _two_ people I currently have a--a-- _closeness_ with is not--”

“Ed, _I’m_ gay.”

“No, you’re not.” Edward says it without thinking, without pausing. He stares down at his hands, and sees they’re trembling. He quickly lifts them up and away from the glass, putting his arms behind his back and tangling his fingers together before jerkily turning to face Oswald, more or less standing at attention.

The room is dead silent and Edward bites his tongue. Oswald stares at him unblinkingly. His eyes are pale, but in candlelight they appear warm and liquid. He’s still staring at Edward. Edward’s staring at him. What’s happening?

“Yes, I am,” Oswald says slowly, and his voice is quiet and dark and Edward shudders, confused and--is this Oswald’s threatening voice? Is he being threatened? He feels _trapped_ , and _nervous_ , and Oswald is standing _much_ closer than he was before...

“Why?”

The word severs all of the tension in the room abruptly, like a good butcher’s knife sinking into the meat of a thigh. Oswald bares his teeth and screeches: “ _What do you mean ‘why’_?” and Edward nervously blurts out: “ _I’m sorry_!” and like a parody of his old self, slinks out of the room, down the hallway and up the stairs to his room before Oswald has a chance to respond.

~

“Ed?”

Edward blinks himself out of his stupor and looks up to meet Isabella’s eyes. “Oh.”

“Were you--oh, dear, sorry.”

Edward glances back down at the assortment of books on the library study table before him. Gay, Straight, and the Reason Why: The Science of Sexual Orientation by Simon LeVay, What If?: Answers to Questions About What It Means to Be Gay and Lesbian by Eric Marcus, leap out at him. “I’m--”

“I was hoping it wouldn’t upset you this much,” Isabella says, a little hesitantly.

“Oswald is gay?” Edward tries. Isabella looks at him, quizzically. “Oswald is _gay_ ,” he repeats, trying to put a little more emphasis on the certainty.

“Yes,” Isabella agrees.

“I--I--aren’t you--” Edward huffs a loud sigh and leans back in his chair. “You’re not surprised?”

“Ed,” Isabella chastises, voice disappointed. “No, he and I--had a bit of a, um, discussion, you could say. Did he come out to you?”

“He told me he was _gay_.”

“That--yes, by definition, that's coming out.”

“Isabella, I…” His words fail him and he stares up at her instead.

He doesn’t miss her, he realizes suddenly. He doesn’t know why, but he doesn’t long for her. The thought is terrifying, somehow, vaguely. “Ed?” she asks him, her sweet voice like a caress. But for some reason that makes him think of the way Oswald’s voice sounded last night and everything is just so _strange_ he doesn’t know what to do about it.

She seems to see his distress and sinks into the seat opposite him, resting her hands on the table and folding them together studiously.

“I _know_ there's nothing wrong with being gay,” Edward begins miserably. “I _know_.”

She nods, slowly.

“But I…used to _not_ know it,” Edward whispers, and the shame is absurd and he _hates_ it, but he covers his face anyway and shudders. He inhales sharply and then drops his hands to meet Isabella's sympathetic gaze. “Oswald is...the best person I know. It doesn't…this doesn't…he's always been gay and he's not...weak.”

Isabella nods, slowly.

“He’s still the man I respect. My best friend,” Edward murmurs.

“When you thought about a future with me, what did you think of?” Isabella asks suddenly. Edward frowns as he ponders her question.

“Er--I thought about fixing my mistakes. Being the man I should be,” Edward tells her. “I wanted to be a man who deserved you.”

“But you didn’t want _me_?” Isabella asks, but her voice is unoffended and her expression knowing.

Edward swallows. “Of course I--”

“You wanted the _idea_ of me,” Isabella corrects preemptively, and Edward falls abruptly silent.

The _idea_ of her. The picture of the two of them together. But he’d always--it was strange, wasn’t it, that he’d imagined her moving into the _manor_ and not vice versa, right? And he’d always thought the reason he didn’t think about having sex with women was because he was virtuous and kind, _unlike_ the scum he’d worked with at the GCPD. But he’d thought _Oswald_ was the same as him, with genteel manners and a studious disinterest to the seedier sectors of organized crime. And it turned out Oswald was _gay_ , and Edward’s head is beginning to spin but the faster the thoughts go around and around the more he hears a single, damning refrain...

“Isabella,” Edward says faintly. She waits in silence. “Isabella,” Edward repeats, for good measure. “I think I’m gay.”

~

It almost seems like Oswald is waiting for him.

But when he steps into the living room Oswald ignores him, his gaze downcast and pensive, his eyes half-lidded. The light from the fireplace casts his visage in dramatic plays of light and shadow, and Edward feels something in his gut that’s _almost_ like nausea, but most certainly isn’t it.

“Oswald,” Edward says, trying for soft but falling short when his apprehension overwhelms him.

Oswald looks up, the firelight obscuring his expression. He says nothing, and Edward swallows.

“Actually...Oswald...I’m gay, too.”

Silence. Edward swallows. “I--I--went to the library and I did some research and I think I am. I’m quite sure now, actually.”

Oswald’s head tilts down. “What a statistical anomaly,” he retorts, his voice just short of bitter.

“Isabella said--”

“ _What_?” Oswald snarls suddenly. “ _What_ did _Isabelle_ say?”

Edward falters for a moment, but he draws the kind conviction in her eyes back to mind and says: “She said you’d have something to tell me.”

Oswald shuts his eyes as if wounded, bringing a hand up to rub his temples. “Edward…”

“She didn’t say what.”

The room is once again thrown into silence, except for the crackling log in the fireplace. Edward lets out a worried exhale.

“Come closer,” Oswald says finally, voice dull. “I can’t see you.”

Edward refrains from pointing out that Oswald would be able to see him better if he just opened his eyes, and walks toward Oswald’s chair rapidly. He can feel blood in his cheeks, no doubt turning his complexion bright pink, but he could blame it on the heat of the flame if he really needed to.

Oswald’s eyes are opened but his gaze is fixed on Edward’s torso, vaguely.

“Oswald--” Edward begins haltingly.

“I love you.”

Edward’s heart thunders. “What?”

“I am _in_ love with you,” Oswald corrects himself, and looks down at his clenched hands. “I once thought to--I suppose I will spare you the details. But know that I understand that your orientation, whatever it may be, does not presuppose--”

And then Oswald’s stopped talking but it’s because Edward is desperately pressing his lips to Oswald’s and there’s a heartbeat where everything is still and strange but then Oswald’s hands come up to cup Edward’s cheeks and he moves his lips against Edward’s.

The kiss is open, yearning, seeking, and Oswald tugs Edward down into his lap and Edward tumbles easily, desperately letting Oswald’s passion and fervor carry him away.

When they finally part Oswald cradles Edward’s head and holds him close, their faces cheek-to-cheek.

“Very gay,” Edward says faintly, and Oswald makes a strange noise.

“What?”

“I think I’m _very_ gay,” Edward elaborates. He swallows nervously and clings to Oswald’s shoulders. “Oswald, I want--won’t you--”

“I want to tear you apart and put you back together,” Oswald says into his ear, with the fierceness of the _crimelord_ about him, and Edward shudders pleasantly, the mere thought of it alluring like nothing else he’s known.

“Yes,” he says. “Yes, _please_.”


End file.
